Wednesday, October 22, 2008

If you were here yesterday, then you know what you’re in for today. If you weren’t here yesterday, then you don’t. It doesn’t really matter, though, as today is likely to be something unpleasant either way.

(If you feel some sort of masochistic need to catch up, then it’s my Christian duty to be your sadist. Go HERE and feel the pain.)

OK. The reason today is likely to be full of misery is because I’m going to publish scads of hideous photos. The subject matter isn’t the problem. I’m not going to show you dismembered bodies or anything like that. It’s just that I’m easily the world’s worst photographer. Don’t believe me? You will soon enough.

Meanwhile, it seems that many of you found the writing about MY WIFE's bra fitting to be the highlight of part one. I won't argue with that. My thinking about how it was accomplished was pretty much the highlight of the entire staycation, so why shouldn't it have been the highlight of the writing? So, in order to make your visit here less than a total waste, I'll explain how I truly, honestly thought such things were done.

MY WIFE went into a fitting room with a decent-looking female sales clerk. The sales clerk took a measuring tape with her. My assumption was that, in order to find the correct size, the sales clerk would have to heft MY WIFE's boobs up, from behind, and sort of wrap the measuring tape around them. Yes, I'm a dope. I really thought that was how it was done. Later on, as I discussed this with MY WIFE, she disabused me of that notion.

I then conjectured that perhaps there were a series of measuring-cup-sort-of-thingies, and the person doing the fitting tries to shove the other person's boobs into the cup that appears to be the closest size, moving on to a larger cup if they hang out the side or something. This was almost as good a picture for my diseased mind to play around with, but it turns out I was wrong again.

It seems that a woman is measured under her boobs, at the thinnest point of her chest, and then measured again around the thickest part, which I assume is nipple-plentiful. Each additional inch is more-or-less a cup size. I think I have that right. If I don't, I'm sure one of you will set me straight. It's still a pleasant thought, but not quite as wood-inducing as the others were.

As with the World Champion Boston Red Sox, you once again have to understand that this championship team, the Celtics, didn’t play any teams from outside of North America while winning their championship. They are, nevertheless, the best basketball team on the planet. In all probability, most of you can more easily understand this than you did concerning the baseball team. Basketball is enough of a global sport so that even the most optimistic of folks from other areas on the earth know that American basketball teams would trounce the living piss out of their squads.

(I know. That sounds so horribly jingoistic that even I cringed as I was writing it. It’s the truth, though, and we all know it. Sorry! Feel free to tell me something similar concerning rugby or cricket, with your country being the overbearing asshole, and I won’t argue a whit.)

(By the way, as I was writing that, I was watching an ad on TV for Christmas shopping at K-Mart. October fucking 21st. I’ll use that to justify my paternalistic and wholly self-satisfied crowing concerning American [and, more specifically] Boston sports teams. If you want to put me in a happier mood, and perhaps make me amenable to arguments concerning how your crummy, slow, short, sallow-skinned, smelly, and entirely unattractive basketball players could possibly measure up to THE BOSTON CELTICS, then perhaps you’d consider writing a Thanksgiving Comes First post wherein you tell K-Mart that you hope all of their stores explode and the debris lands on their personal residences, which burn to the ground, and then they are plagued with crickets infesting their livers or something like that? I’d appreciate it greatly.)

I am now going to publish the photos. If you’ve been surfing the ‘net without your glasses on, and you think it will help the photos to look better if you put them on now? You are wrong. The photos suck. You'll probably be better served by taking off your glasses, if you're wearing any. Here they are, anyway. You've been warned.

Despite the preceding evidence, the Tsongas Arena is a nice place, totally non-blurry and well-lit. The Celtics themselves look as much better in-person, as compared to the photos, as thoroughbred stallions would be when compared to a bunch of three-legged mangy mules. Or K-Mart executives.

It really was a decent fun time. Our friends, Dan and Mandy Nelson, have season tickets to the Celtics. We are something like minority shareholders in their tickets, having bought a few from them last year and another bunch for this upcoming season. When they found out that they couldn’t attend this practice, which was open to season ticket holders, they asked us if we’d like to go in their stead. Well, sure! The Celtics are far and away my favorite sports team, and MY WIFE shared the joy with me when they won it all last year.

Not much of an exciting nature to share about the actual practice, I’m afraid. It was a lot of running up and down the court, lay-up drills, some interesting defensive sets practiced, and a chance to cheer the team in a relaxed atmosphere.

(The reason the Nelsons couldn’t make it was because their daughter, Maggie, was having her birthday party on that date. We therefore bought a small present for Maggie to thank her – some drawing pencils and fun paper – and MY WIFE wrapped the gift in the paper in which we got our hot dog s that day. That sounds totally horrible, but it was pretty paper, it did NOT smell like hot dogs, and we knew that Dan and Mandy would likely get a kick out of knowing where it had come from. Happy Birthday, Maggie!)

After the practice, we planned on going to a container store, supposedly located in The Burlington Mall. I say "supposedly" because it wasn’t. MY WIFE had heard some local yokel DJ on the radio, talking about this store, and he placed it in Burlington at the mall, but nuh-uh. And The Burlington Mall stinks.

Oh, the mall isn’t any worse than any other mall. But going there on a Saturday at 4pm was easily one of the worst decisions of this entire staycation. We had a bit of fun, of course. This is because we like each other and we can find fun in most places. But it was as crowded as any mall I’ve ever been to and we had to park about a half-mile from the entrance. In addition, leaving the mall and getting onto the highway afterwards was a challenge similar to leaving a game at Gillette Stadium, home of the Three-Time World Champion New England Patriots.

(That was entirely gratuitous. I don’t care.)

After the mall, we went out to eat at a family-owned Italian restaurant in Waltham, The Chateau. It’s a nice place, good food, relatively inexpensive, friendly staff, plenty of parking, and if you live around here, you should go. If you don’t live around here, your basketball team sucks.

(I’m not being very nice today. I really am sorry. Go stuff some really old Roquefort cheese in a K-Mart executive’s heating system and I’ll feel better.)

This really was a good day. My favorite college football team, The Boston College Eagles, won. They are now 5 and 1, and in good shape to challenge for (yes) a championship. In addition, our good day once again matched up with a good day for the (ahem) World Champion Boston Red Sox. They won, 4 – 2, forcing a deciding game seven on...

SUNDAY – After all of the horribly un-Christian things I've written above, my personal recommendation in this next part will not be doing The Reverend Peter Gomes any favors. He is the minister at Memorial Chapel in Harvard Yard. We attended Sunday services there and he preached. He was magnificent.

Honestly. I’m a Christian and he was fantastic. I know I’ve been something of a rotter through most of this, but if I’m sincere about any one thing here, it’s that Rev. Gomes is probably the finest preacher I’ve ever heard deliver a sermon. He is funny, incisive, sharp, funny, deep, funny, and completely not unfunny. He’s not just a comedian, but he had me laughing more during a sermon than anyone ever has before. That, in and of itself, would be worth reporting, I guess, but the fact that he delivers theology that sticks, while also making you happy, makes him outstandingly special.

Here is a link to learn more about him. If you’re from this area, and you have the opportunity to see him preach at Harvard someday, please do yourself a favor and take advantage of that opportunity. If you’re not from this area, your basketball team was denigrated in a similarly-constructed joke several paragraphs ago, so I won’t belabor the point here.

Well, that’s most of the staycation. The only thing remaining is to report the sad demise of the World Champion (but only for about ten days more) Boston Red Sox. They lost game seven to the Tampa Bay Rays, 3 – 1. They fought hard, but the Rays deserved the win. Congratulations to them. As we faced a return to work, the Sox lost the deciding game. This was somehow very fitting. Here is how our fate and that of the Sox intersected during the staycation:

Day Of Staycation Red Sox Fate Our Fate

Friday Sox Win, 2 - 0 Vacation begins Steak!

Saturday Sox Lose, 9 - 8 Wrong barber in extra innings Priscilla ill

Sunday Priscilla died last night

Monday Sox Lose, 9 - 1 Breakfast with Yoooooook; funeral planning

Tuesday Sox Lose, 13 - 4 Wake

Wednesday Funeral

Thursday Sox Win miraculous comeback game, 8 - 7, after trailing, 7 - 0. We go to mall, argue, have overpriced burgers, then make up and have a nice and pleasant night.

Sunday Sox Lose, 3 - 1, and lose series to Tampa, 4 games to 3. We go back to work tomorrow.

It may seem a somewhat callous thing, to compare the relative unimportance of a sporting event outcome with the death of a loved one, but Priscilla was a lifelong Red Sox fan. Believe me, she would have totally understood this and appreciated the parallels.

Maybe Curt Schilling will make a comeback next season and the Red Sox will take the Series.

I'm actually not a baseball fan, except that I don't like the Cubs much. This is due to issues they had with a charter flight at one of my previous employers. The only sport I watch much is pro football (but scarily, I'm also following the NCAA some this year.)

Anyhow, I do think that Curt Schilling is a cool guy, and I admire someone famous like that for running their own blog and not relying on publicists to proofread everything they write.

You do have a way with words, through much of this post I was literally LOL. Sorry for the loss of Priscilla (will go read part 1 shortly). Glad to see you are still whacking the big guys for starting Christmas so early. I'll definitely check out Rev. Gomes since I am in the area so have the greatest teams in my neighborhood!Peace, Judi

ok, if you can compare aunt priscilla's death with the sporting outcomes i can say i truly guffawed at the imagery of your wife having a saleslady apply incrementally larger and larger cups to her hooters until they found the right size. i also nearly choked in laughter when i read that the birthday present was wrapped in hot dog paper.

you guys are too stinking funny...oh and speaking of things that stink. i find shrimp in the heating system might be a better choice. they won't immediately notice it but when they do the stench of decayed seafood will be damn enar impossible to clean out.

I missed the post yesterday and read it today with this one... so sorry to hear of the loss of your wife's aunt. My sympathy to you and family.

And I was going to leave a comment on the last post, but am glad to have read the rest of the details about the bra fitting here first! Hilarious! (I am going to ask my Hubby what his impressions are of a fitting and see if I can get some more giggles out of it!)

Lastly, Go Red Sox! I have been to Fenway and can say that a little Red Sox will be with me always.

I can't decide if Part I or Part II of the Suldog Staycation was better. ;) At least you found a little light in the Sunday service, though. Um...next year, how's about going away to a little B&B far far from sports arenas? LOL

I was all set to change careers to become a Certified Bra Measurement Professional (CBMP) until I heard what it actually entailed. What fun is that??? Looks like I'm writing code 'til I die. Good stuff, Suldog.

I'm not convinced that your original thoughts on bra sizing wouldn't better than the way it's actually done.I think it's very cool that you got to watch the Celtics practice, and the idea to wrap the birthday present in the hot dog paper was brilliant.I'm sorry your staycation wasn't more what you were hoping for, but you certainly got some blog mileage out of it.Interestingly enough, my word verification is "phyllych." Close enough to Phyllis to be symbolic. Or just weird.

Shame, sorry about Pricilla. Now on to the most pressing part - bra fitting's. I'm going to make a confession here, something undisclosed hereforeto in blog land. I've had a breast reduction. Well c'mon, you see how skinny I am, a double f cup was just plain taking the piss. I'm now a comfortable c cup, and very happy with it too (despite hubby's moans). Anyhows, the point I'm leading up to is, in my early twenties I (in desperation) went to THE top place for a bra fitting, just around the corner from Harrods lies "Rigby and Pellor - fitters to the queen". Oh shit, I've just realised, this comment is far too long to fit here, now I'm gonna' have to write my next post on it. Ah well, never mind - I'll finish the ramble on my own time (big sloppy kiss for reminding me of it, though) xx

Hi Sully,Sorry about the late comment, I haven't had time until now to check up on my favourite blogs. Sorry to hear about Priscilla, it's never easy to say goodbye to a loved one. However, it was wonderful to read about her wake - my grandfather's was very similar. He was also a person who lived a full and happy life, which showed in the stories we all told at his wake. I also choke up at "On Eagle's Wings" - it was one of my solos at his funeral. Not sure how I got through it then, but now it makes me cry every time. That and "How Great Thou Art", which was my grandfather's favourite.Anyway, thanks for the wonderfully long-winded posts about your Staycation - they were fun to read (mostly). Hope Back-to-Work doesn't suck.

About Priscilla's passing....I'm not sure how this is going to sound, but I'm going to give it shot. I simply don't have Suldog's gift of gab.When my two grandmothers and an aunt died years ago, I have to say that the proceedings afterwards were actually, celebratory. They were all elderly, well into their 80's or 90's. After I got over the realization that I won't see them anymore, I have to say it was incredibly comforting, and dare I say, enjoyable to see all these people come celebrate their lives, and to hear stories you never heard before. There is nothing tragic about a 90+ woman dying. They all had wonderful lives, and I love hearing people tell me all the good things about my relatives.

A couple of things here, since you posted a "multi-topic" piece (kind of like many of my posts except I ramble off course extremely easily and much more than you do) - measuring with various cups, huh -there's a vision in my mind! songs that make me tear up -there are several, among them those mentioned before plus Amazing Grace but especially a hymn titled "Children of the Heavenly Father" which is a particular favorite in our church and especially so within my Mom's extended family. Growing up, I knew all four verses by heart and the first verse, I knew in Swedish and it is frequently chosen as a funeral hymn in our church. Many memories associated with it for me, one being it was my Grandpa's favorite hymn and he's the one who taught all the verses to me, including the Swedish words. Took me many years after my Mom passed before I could sing this hymn in a regular church service without choking up, dissolving into tears and I've even sung it to my kids -and grandkids -as a lullaby! I'm in the process now of trying to teach Maya the words and the melody and yes, I will teach her the Swedish words to it too eventually. And the baseball information with respect to "Aunt Priscilla -yeah, I can understand that rationale as one of my Great-aunts (Esther) was a huge fan of the Pirates and would have agreed completely too with your reasoning about putting the two items together in your post!

I love the Chateau, always get ravioli there but haven't been in ages. The only other one I've eaten at is Stoughton but it wasn't as good as Waltham.

Hmmm, nothing like the Burlington Mall to pick up one's spirits. Where did you end up parking, Barnes & Noble? That place is a nightmare & they continue to run out of parking each year as the "out" buildings just seem to spawn out of nothing.

Well I'm answering the bra /boob bit which I thought was hilarious! gave me a good chuckle, I can tell you.Never had the courage to go to be measured. however think it might be a good idea now that I know what to expect!

Most of the photos are fine. I am not the world's most brilliant photographer and have flushed many "so called brilliant shots" down the shute!

You really need to get out more, lol...vacation? What the hell is a vacation? I used to tell my kids we were on Vacation whenever the Navy made the grand choice of where to send us for Mac to serve his country. They fell for it everytime...I'm all for the Staycation myself. Oh, and you were right...the photos sucked...SandipsCongrats on the POTD mention from David

I am, among other things...

My actual name is Jim Sullivan, but I'll answer to Jim, Jimmy, Sully, Suldog, Laroooooo, or Your Prescription Is Ready. Despite all evidence to the contrary found within these pages, I am a professional writer.